


It's Weird For Everyone

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Homestuck, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, sburb AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's denizen is nothing like he'd expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Weird For Everyone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poodles/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [這對每個人來說都好奇怪](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480251) by [reflux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reflux/pseuds/reflux)



Sam is bruised and bloodied by the time he reaches the lowest level of the palace, his clothing singed. It's taken him longer than Ruby had led him to expect to get this far, solving each intricate puzzle to break another seal and bring him closer to his denizen. He wonders where she is now; they'd lost track of each other somewhere around the fiftieth seal, and he hopes she's all right. As far as he knows, sprites can't die, but he can't help being concerned.

It's been weeks since the last time he'd spoken to Dean, too. Dean hadn't liked his strategy, worried he was on the wrong path, had lost it over Sam talking to the Gods of the Furthest Ring. So it's been just him and Ruby for a while, and now—now it's just him.

Sam thinks he's alright with that. Being alone. He's lonely, sometimes, misses having someone with him, telling him what to do next, but he's alright with this. He's strong, too, strong on his own.

Strong enough to defeat his denizen on his own. He draws nearer to the door to the throne room, traces his hand down the ornate, golden patterns set into the doors. It's cold to the touch, and there's something that feels almost alive about it. He fingers the hilt of his sword nervously, his heart beating very fast. His fingers are trembling.

The doors are heavy, but he's strong, and he heaves them open. The room is pristinely white, shining bright, light reflecting off every surface, and he has to fling his arm over his eyes.

There's a figure in the center of the room, seated in the throne with his legs crossed. He's dressed all in white, too, and it hurts Sam's eyes to look at him, but he can't bring himself to look away.

"Lucifer," he breathes, and the figure stirs. He's nothing, nothing like Sam expected, not an eldritch horror, all darkness and oily slick tentacles, no terrifyingly curved horns, or huge and imposing wings. He's just a man, blonde, tall and elegant, dressed in a finely tailored white suit.

Lucifer—his _denizen_ —uncrosses his legs and rises, smiling. He's—God, he radiates power, like a nuclear reactor contained in a too small body, hydrogen atoms constantly fusing together beneath his skin, and he has an undeniable glow about him.

"Sam," Lucifer says, and it's all that Sam can do to remain on his feet, to keep from kneeling before him. He's never felt this way before, never felt this need to drop and worship at someone's feet. He grips his sword, and something of his purpose comes back to him.

"I've been waiting for you for a very long time, Sam," Lucifer says, stepping down from the throne and drawing closer to Sam. "Longer than you can imagine. And here you are."

He looks pleased in a way that makes Sam nervous, makes him want to step back, turn around and run for the door, but he feels rooted to the spot. And still Lucifer comes forward, until he's a breath away from Sam, and then he raises his hand to Sam's face, cupping it gently. "Here you are."

His mouth is dry and his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. This isn't—this isn't what he'd expected.

"I'm here to kill you," he rasps, and Lucifer makes a soft noise of amusement.

"Is that what they told you?" he says, his thumb stroking over Sam's cheekbone, an overly intimate sensation.

"Stop it," Sam whispers. Lucifer's voice is smooth and honey-sweet, his touch soothing, and nothing adds up, nothing is making sense. This isn't what's supposed to be happening, he needs to draw his sword and skewer him through, claim his reward. But his hands just dangle uselessly at his sides, and he can't bring himself to move. He doesn't understand what's happening. "Ruby—Ruby said—I have to kill you. It's what I'm supposed to _do_." He closes his eyes, can't continue to meet Lucifer's icy, piercing gaze.

"Ruby," Lucifer says. "Your sprite. Of course. I'm afraid that isn't quite what's meant to happen." His hand's slipped around to cradle the back of Sam's head, stroking through his hair, fingers tangling in the shorter curls.

Sam can't quite seem to breathe properly. "Then—what's...?"

Lucifer takes a long breath in, and when he speaks, he sounds impossibly proud. "You've freed me, Sam. You've broken the seals binding me down here and freed me."

"No," Sam says, feeling far away. "No, that's not it. I have to battle you."

"Battle me?" Lucifer's voice is fond. "Oh no, not at all. Now, you join me."

"Join you?"

"Of course. And together, we conquer this session, rule over it together."

It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. All the confusing, broken-up bits of prophecy he'd found carved onto boulders, the mad-sounding babblings of his consorts—they'd hinted that there was something bigger that he was missing. Still, though. Something doesn't make sense.

"Dean," he says, and Lucifer frowns for the first time.

"Your brother," he sighs. "Well. He has his own denizen, doesn't he? My brother, Michael. They'll stand in our way, I'm sure, try to destroy us as best they can. But you're special, Sam. You're so strong. Together, I have no doubt that we'll be triumphant. And you'll rule, just as you were always meant to."

"Meant to?" Sam echoes.

Lucifer nods, a radiant smile lighting up his face. "This was always your destiny. You've always felt out of place, haven't you? Like you were meant for something better. I am that something better, Sam. We've been waiting for each other, all this time, and now you're here. Now you've freed me." His left hand's come up to rest on Sam's shoulder, possessive.

"But you're—you're supposed to be a monster," Sam says. "That's why you're down here. That's why you were locked away, why I have to defeat you."

Lucifer makes a soft noise of pity. "Well, that's what the story says, isn't it? But stories always have another side. One side says I was cruel and capricious and my brother locked me away down here to keep the consorts of my planet safe from my wicked reign. The other side says I was unjustly shut away by a brother who had grown too proud and arrogant and sure of his own righteousness to be bothered with loving me any longer, and I've waited all this time for my Knight to set me free." He looks regretful. "You know how stories go. Someone always has to be the villain."

Everything's been turned on its head, and Sam can't wrap himself around it. "You're telling me you're not the bad guy?"

"'The bad guy'." Lucifer makes a face. "Things aren't quite so black-and-white as that. The story demanded that I be named the villain and imprisoned, so here I am. Because the story required it, not because I'd done anything deserving. I'm a victim of fate, just as much as you are. But things don't have to be like that, Sam. We can right the injustices, take control back for ourselves."

He takes Sam's hand, lays it on the pommel of his own sword, a shining, white thing, just as pristinely white as his suit. "Can you feel that?"

And—yes, he can, he can feel how it hums beneath his hand. "What is that?"

"It's because you're mine," Lucifer says. "My champion, my Knight of Doom. Say you'll fight for me, and it's yours."

"And if I don't?"

Lucifer's brow furrows. "Why wouldn't you?"

Sam closes his eyes, remembers what he's been fighting for this whole time. Remembers how he'd thought, once he'd defeated his denizen—how Dean would come back to him. "Dean. You said he'd stand in our way."

"Doubtless, he's with Michael right now, joining his cause. They'll try to stop us, jealous of our power, determined to keep righteousness for themselves. We'll do battle with them, but we'll win. Together, we'll _win_." His cool fingers trail down Sam's neck. "Say yes, Sam."

He sounds supremely confident, and though he has utter faith that Sam will agree. And this, this makes Sam annoyed.

"I won't," he says, pulling his hand away from Lucifer's.

Lucifer looks taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"I won't," Sam says again. "I can't do that to Dean."

"Dean's already done it to you," Lucifer argues. "He and Michael—"

"He hasn't," Sam says quietly. "I trust him."

"But he doesn't trust you, does he? Perhaps he's doing the only thing he thinks he can to stop you."

Sam shakes his head. "No, I don't think so."

"Sam," Lucifer says, sounding frustrated.

"This isn't a debate," Sam tells him. "You can't have me. I won't say yes."

Lucifer breathes in, closes his eyes and exhales, stepping away. "Very well," he says. "If that's the way you want it." He draws his sword, looking immensely regretful about it. "We'll duel for it. You win, you kill me, take your prize. If I win, you become my champion."

Sam feels his heart catch in his throat. This is what he came here for, after all. "All right," he says, his voice sounding distant, and he draws his blade with shaking fingers.

Lucifer attacks first, assuming the offensive, and his blow comes down with such inhuman strength that Sam is only just barely able to parry. Almost immediately, he's lunging again, a series of quick jabs that leave Sam panting even as he counters them.

"Very good, Sam!" he says, sounding delighted. "You have a fencer's instincts."

His praise leaves Sam angry, and he steps under Lucifer's next attack, thrusting for his heart and attempting to throw him onto the defensive. Lucifer counters easily, blocking Sam's next attack with just as little effort, whirling and raising his blade like it's weightless.

It's like a dance, nearly, far more beautiful than the mindless destruction he'd rained down on imps and ogres. He wants to just block out the rest of the world and lose himself in this, the sheer grace that Lucifer moves with. He attacks, parries, does everything with such elegance, each step of his feet carefully planned and in time with the rhythm of the dance.

Sam's reminded of the stakes abruptly when he's too slow dodging a lunge and comes away with a deep gash in his arm, a slash through his shirt sleeve.

"You can surrender at any time, Sam," Lucifer reminds him, and Sam shakes his head, shakes away the pain, swinging his arms up the block the next strike.

He's tiring; he can feel the bone-deep ache in every limb, sweat pouring down his face. Lucifer seems just as fresh as ever, still just as graceful, maneuvering Sam around the room with ease. He's growing concerned that he won't be able to win this one.

He manages to get in one good strike against Lucifer, opening a wound in his side, but it's shallow, superficial. Lucifer repays him in kind, scratching a gouge across Sam's cheek, another on his leg. He worries that Lucifer's toying with him, giving Sam a good show before he strikes the final blow. Lucifer's form is impeccable, full of carefully channeled power, and Sam's aware that he's the one controlling this dance, backing Sam up and maneuvering him exactly where Lucifer wants him, until—

Sam stumbles, his back hitting the throne, falling into it. Lucifer sword is against his throat, his face all hungry triumph, and Sam feels sick. He's—he's lost. That's it. He's just _lost_.

"You put up a valiant effort," Lucifer says, voice thick with sympathy. "But in the end, I won." He pauses. "You look good on a throne. I'll make sure you sit one in the end."

Sam feels his sword slip from numb fingers, clattering to the ground. In the end. He bites his lip, watches as Lucifer licks his lips and flicks his gaze down to Sam's mouth. And this is when Sam has the idea.

He reaches out, hands not even shaking a little, fisting them in Lucifer's white jacket (not so white now, marred with red blood). Ignores the breath Lucifer takes in, the blade against his own throat, and pulls him in closer.

"Sam," Lucifer breathes, their lips nearly touching. His breath is cool, and he's so very close.

Sam leans in all the way and kisses him. Lucifer's lips fit perfectly against his, soft and welcoming, and he closes his eyes, letting Lucifer lick his mouth open. And it doesn't matter that he's kissing his _denizen_ , that he's twenty-two and he's never kissed anyone like this before, that it's a desperate last gambit, he's losing himself in it and then—

He's tugging the sword from Lucifer's startled grasp, throwing Lucifer off of him, knocking him to the floor, crouching on top of him, the point of the sword pressing against his heart.

Lucifer's laughing. Lucifer's _laughing_.

"Oh, well done, Sam!" he says, sounding so proud. "Excellently played. Very well, I concede my defeat." He licks his lips again, an obscene gesture, and Sam doesn't know what it means. "Go ahead. It's what you came here to do, isn't it?" He strokes a finger down the blade of the sword, panting a little. "Go on, Sam."

Sam's frozen in place. This is the righteous path, this is what Dean would want him to do. Isn't it?

"No," he says finally, surprising himself.

"No?" Lucifer says, voice soft. He drags his finger up and down the blade, and blood wells up along the pad of his finger, stark and red against his pale skin. Remarkable. Sam somehow still expects him to bleed pure light and energy.

"Same deal as before," Sam says, and his voice only catches a little. "Only the other way around. You join me. Fight for me. You help us beat this game, not conquer it."

Lucifer looks up at him, blinks and looks considering. "Is that what you want?"

Sam nods. His heart is thrumming.

"Alright," he says, and Sam's surprised by how easily he agrees.

"How do I know you won't go back on your word as soon as I let you up?"

Lucifer smiles. "I keep my promises, Sam." He wraps his hand around the sword's blade, heedless of how it digs into his palm, tugging it from Sam's grip with surprising strength. Sits all the way up, and for a moment Sam is horribly aware of how close they are, and scrambles up and off him.

Lucifer doesn't follow him up, kneeling at his feet instead. "How would you like me to swear?" he asks.

Sam stares at him blankly, and Lucifer chuckles. "Sam Winchester," he says. "I swear to protect you with my life, to serve you and your cause for as long as you should require. Is that alright?"

"Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah, that's good, I guess. Um, you can rise now."

Lucifer doesn't move. "It's traditional to seal this sort of arrangement with a kiss, you know."

"Oh," Sam says faintly.

Lucifer licks his lips again, which is becoming kind of an unfair move on his part. "Come here, Sam," he whispers, taking a hold of Sam's shirt and tugging until Sam bends down to his level.

This time, the kiss doesn't have any of the nerves or desperation as the first one, Sam fitting his hands around Lucifer's head, no sharp edge of a sword to get in their way or keep Lucifer from sliding his hands up under Sam's shirt and clutching at his waist. It's slow and gentle, a promise and a prayer rolled into one, it's Lucifer claiming Sam as his just as much as Sam is claiming him. It's long and lingering, and by the time they break apart Sam is panting, lips bitten-red.

Lucifer smiles up at him, looking fond. "Well then," he says. "Lead the way, my Knight."


End file.
